Natalie Acres

by Sex Slave [Cowboy Sex 7]

  “Haven’t you paid attention to anything they’ve told you? They’ve known you long enough to become obsessed with you, driven in life because of you. Everything they do, everything they are, is all because of their dream of loving you.”

  The door slammed behind them.

  Cherie’s eyes widened. Kimberly turned around, expecting to find Wyatt and Sebastian. Instead, she found herself staring into the wild, apparently drug-induced, eyes of a very sexy older man.

  Cherie’s breath hitched in her chest. Kimberly shifted her gaze quickly between the stranger and Cherie. “Who is he?”

  Her mouth opened and closed. It was as if she struggled to supply an answer, but somehow couldn’t manage.

  “Hello, submissive one,” he said in this dark voice. “Did you miss me?”

  “I missed you,” she replied in a methodical tone.

  “Cherie?” Kimberly snapped her fingers.

  She slowly walked to the man, acting as if she were entranced.

  Kimberly turned on him violently. “What are you doing to her?”

  “There, there, pet,” he said, stroking Cherie’s head as she embraced him. “That’s my sweet girl. I’m here now. I’ve come to take you home.”

  “Cherie! Snap out of it!” Kimberly screamed, rushing the man who seemed to be brainwashing her by his very presence.

  “Kneel,” he said, acting positively bored but smiling broadly when she used his body for leverage. She slid to the floor, taking her position in front of him. “That’s my pet.”

  “What do you mean pet?” Kimberly was appalled. “Cherie! What is this? Who is this man? What are you doing? Damn it! Stand up!”

  Dazed, Cherie looked up at him with adoring eyes and seemingly ignored Kimberly as she tried to pull her to her feet. “He is my Master. This is the man everyone has been talking about. Isn’t he grand?”

  Grand? Kimberly nearly snorted at the thought. Who was Cherie kidding, besides herself?

  Kimberly’s gaze flicked over the large masculine shell of a man. With his hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, his more-salt-than-pepper hair color, along with his fine lines around the eyes, suggested a man over the age of sixty-two. For an older man, he was buff, in real good shape, and if Cherie were in her fifties, perhaps Kimberly might understand the attraction.

  “He’s so, so grand, Kimberly,” she whispered, her fingers practically digging into the fellow’s slacks.

  An eerie chill fell over the room. He obviously held significant power over Cherie. Kimberly kept waiting for orange and red flames to engulf them before the two of them descended toward hell.

  “Grand?” Kimberly finally forced herself to speak. “No, Cherie. He looks like an ordinary man.” And mean enough to strike back at a rattlesnake. His eyes danced with wicked devilment as Cherie wrapped her arms around one of his legs, rubbing her cheek against his expensive suit.

  “Let me introduce myself. I’m Sweden.” He reached over Cherie’s head to extend his hand. “As you might already know, you and I will be close friends as well.”

  “Probably not in this lifetime,” Kimberly said tightly, keeping her eyes on the man’s hands while watching the window for any shadows or movements.

  Sweden spread his large fingers, somewhat disjointed no thanks to his probable age. He seemingly waited with great expectation for a handshake. He could stand there all night.

  She studied the window, noting the reflections of some of the furniture pieces. By the looks of things, she might wait a while, too.

  Where the hell were Sebastian and Wyatt? They must’ve had a drink to celebrate after they beat the living hell out of Jason, which she might have enjoyed watching if that’s what happened.

  When she didn’t accept his hand, Sweden finally grated out, “Are you afraid to touch me, Miss Cartwell?”

  “No,” she quickly replied, refusing to ask how he knew her name. She didn’t believe in playing games unless the rules within would potentially save her life. “I don’t swoon at the feet of old men and I’m not easily hypnotized and placed under a man’s spell.”

  “Are you sure about that, Miss Cartwell?” His long eyelashes fluttered over the coldest of still eyes she’d ever seen and his entire frame—all six foot three of him—slowly became rigid, as if every muscle tightened upon his order.

  In the distance, the metal squeak of the locomotive’s brakes followed by several whooshing sounds alerted all passengers to the obvious. They were slowing down for their only in-city stop, somewhere around Pittsburgh, best she could remember.

  Sweden placed his hand atop Cherie’s head. She continued to admire him with longing in her eyes. Her face remained as flushed in color as her flaming red hair.

  “Let me tell you how this is set to play out,” Sweden said in a diabolical voice. “When we stop in Pittsburgh, you and Cherie will leave the train with me and my men. We’ll stay overnight in the city, enjoy a training session, and tomorrow, we’ll fly back to Lund on my private jet.”

  “Of course we will,” she sang. “And while we’re in Pittsburgh, I’ll fuck you wild, enjoy every minute of it, and then end up on my knees looking like a groupie for a rock band.”

  Sweden tilted his head and grinned. “Ah the joys of watching Cartwell women defy their men. It’s a real treat, actually. I’ve had my eye on your family’s women for several decades now, as you can imagine. Your mother was my first interest.

  “Your sister, Trixie, would’ve been mine. Everything was set in motion before your fathers sent her off to Cow Camp, which is where she had her ménage cherries popped. She was too young. We were too late.”

  He released a burden sigh. “Your twin Ansley wasn’t much better. Although I think she would’ve been the one with the most fire. She is definitely your mother’s daughter, but she’s your father Kane’s tiger. She’s a hellcat and I love women with fight in their veins. I would’ve thoroughly enjoyed her.”

  Cherie seemingly hung on to his every word, nodding at the appropriate pauses, smiling when Sweden smiled. Oh God, this was sickening.

  What was keeping Wyatt and Sebastian?

  Panic struck with the grating sound of brakes raking against the tracks. The lights shining in the windows suggested they had pulled into the station.

  Kimberly was starting to feel that surge of panic. Sweden mentioned his men. Jason was on the train and he’d obviously meant to sell her to Sweden. Who else had boarded the train in Columbia? And how had Sweden, Jason, and the McKays figured out their plans?

  Her mind churned with possibilities, but only one man stood out as the gabbing culprit. Sam Jackson. He was the link. He must’ve been on Sweden’s payroll. And he was also a trusted friend to Sebastian and Wyatt.

  Kimberly became more frantic, her head spinning with all the reasons why Sebastian and Wyatt had yet to return to their private rail car. With the train stopped, she needed to distract Sweden. She needed to keep him amused. She could not leave the train with Sweden. And poor Cherie was doomed if Kimberly didn’t devise a plan.

  “I’m not a ménage virgin,” she quickly told him.

  “Of course you are,” Sweden said, his demeanor quickly changing. His air of confidence diminished, suggesting he wasn’t quite so sure of himself anymore.

  His rounded jaws drew tight as he ground his teeth together. Below the surface, the man was seething. She could sense his brewing anger and she was certain of one thing—he felt manipulated in that moment. The proof of her truth and his ignorance existed around him. All he had to do was look at the evidence.

  “Are you really that stupid? Jason has lied to you before. Hasn’t he promised to deliver me on several occasions?”

  She was taking a shot in the dark there. Based on how he rescinded several auction bids for her time, she could only assume he reneged on offers to Sweden.

  “He told you what he thought you wanted to hear,” she continued. “He knew you preferred women who had only been with one or two partners. You put in a tall order there,
but it wasn’t unreasonable to think women with limited partners were inexperienced in the ménage arena.”

  “It’s not unreasonable, to borrow your term, to believe you have remained true to Jason. I watched footage of the two of you together. You are, in every way that matters, his little sub, his subservient woman. Even if you wanted to go to bed with Mr. Ketchum and Mr. Clanton, your mind would prohibit it. Jason’s training was methodical. His techniques were precise. You would have to be deprogrammed before you could give your body to another.”

  “And you believe that nonsense?” she asked, having a difficult time understanding the wiring of a madman. And without a doubt, Sweden was a lunatic.

  “Take Cherie, for instance,” he said, cupping her cheek. “Look at her. Watch her eyes. Everything about her screams, ‘I am owned,’ and no one can undo the connection we’ve developed. No one can take her away from me without my permission.”

  “Let’s explore that belief. Shall we?” Kimberly paced in front of him, keeping her gaze pinned on the door, watching the dark windows running down both sides of the train car.

  “You say no one can break the connection you have with Cherie. You’re apparently under the misguided impression that Jason and I share a similar bond. If that were true, I wouldn’t have been traveling with Wyatt and Sebastian.

  “You can believe what you want. Jason doesn’t have my loyalty. You can expect whatever it is that you want to anticipate, but you will be disappointed. Jason lied to you. I have been shared equally and lovingly with Wyatt and Sebastian. These past few days have been nothing short of magical.” She gave him a solid stare. “You failed, Sweden. Your people failed you. This time, your recruitment was unsuccessful. You were too late.”

  A glint of fury flashed in his expression, but he took a moment and regained his composure. “Miss Cartwell, I do hope what you’re telling me is a flat-out lie. While you’ll be punished for dishonesty, you will survive. However, if you’re telling me the truth, then I have no real need for you. If I begin to believe you’re a soiled dove, then I’ll dispose of you as such.”

  “A soiled dove?”

  A wicked laugh filled the car as three burly men entered the rail car. They rushed her, bypassing Sweden.

  Backing away from them, Kimberly screamed, “Cherie! Please! Damn it, Cherie! Snap out of this! Fight!”

  Without a moment spared, all three men pursued her. It only took a moment for them to restrain her even though she fought back, struggled against them.

  After Sweden’s men secured her, Sweden stepped around Cherie, who remained on the floor, just as silent as she’d been when she’d first collapsed there. He grabbed hold of Kimberly’s jaw and jerked her, forcing her to look at him.

  Kimberly’s chest heaved. Her ragged breaths resounded.

  “Look at me,” he said firmly, even though her gaze continued to flick around him.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of believing he could control her. He held her face with a firmer grip. Still, she refused to reward him, honor him even, with eye-to-eye contact.

  “Ah, look at that, men,” Sweden drawled. “Such hurt. So much rage.”

  Her body shook as she gave a last full attempt at breaking the hold his men had secured. She threw her weight forward, screamed bloody hell, and savagely quivered, wriggling around to free herself.

  Realizing she probably looked like a seizing lunatic, she continued to fight, determined to wear down her assailants if nothing else. Maybe then by the time Wyatt and Sebastian finished throwing back drinks at the bar, they could at least find exhausted adversaries.

  “Enough!” Sweden bellowed, digging in the front pocket of his jacket. Pulling out a syringe, he snarled. “Do you want to go willingly, or would you like to forget your transfer completely? Either way, you go with me.”

  Kimberly’s eyes widened. She focused on the glistening needle tip, noting the slight yellowish hue to the serum inside the attached oval tube.

  Stilling in her captor’s arms, she focused on Sweden, disconnecting herself from the moment. Her family had faced hardships in the past. Her sister Trixie had been abducted several times. She needed to keep her wits about her.

  “You and I will enjoy one another, sweetness. When my brother and I take you together, you will be trained in obedience. You will learn acceptance. Our women learn to appreciate what they have, what we allow them to have free of charge in exchange for their gratitude, their subservience.” Amusement flickered in his face. “But above all else, I want to teach you what you’ve already seen for yourself. That all things, even betrayal, can be bought for a price.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  As Sweden’s men dragged her away from the private rail car, she reminded herself of whom and what she was. She’d survived worse.

  She’d lived through sporadic drugging. She’d overcome an on-again-off-again relationship with a Dom who hadn’t deserved her devotion or love. She was a survivor and regardless of what she faced in the days ahead, she would survive this.

  The cool air smacked her in the face as Sweden’s men dragged her through the train station. Sweden walked behind them at a safe distance, his arm casually draped over a disoriented Cherie.

  What was wrong with her? What sort of brainwashing methods had Sweden used to make any woman, particularly Cherie, who seemed so bright and full of life, fall under some sort of hypnotic spell?

  In the distance, the station intercom system announced boarding calls. Twenty-five minutes. Her train would pull out in less than half an hour.

  Sebastian and Wyatt entered her mind again. She was deeply concerned about them. She knew in her heart of hearts that they would be fighting for her. If they had been restrained, they’d struggle for freedom. They’d find her. Unless they really were enjoying that celebratory drink she’d first imagined.

  No, she couldn’t believe they were unaware of the events transpiring there. They were fighting for her. She could feel it in her gut. And the McKays? They hadn’t taken the trip by mere coincidence.

  Her gaze danced around the station then. She knew how her fathers and godfathers worked. They were so guarded and suspicious of everyone. If they were on this trip to ensure her safety—and undoubtedly they were—wouldn’t they be at the station, somewhere hidden in the shadows?

  They continued walking the length of the train, headed toward the front rail car. She was aware of the syringe Sweden had shown her, the way he’d slipped the proof of his ever-present threat right inside his sleeve, the tip of the needle probably parallel to his wrist.

  A tickle at the back of her neck sent her on high alert. She felt as if too many pairs of eyes were suddenly watching them. Too many interested parties had turned as they’d passed.

  “Step it up,” Sweden said, gaining ground and closing the distance between them. “Something isn’t right here. There are too many people.”

  Among Sweden’s many perceived talents, he apparently read thoughts as well. She slowed her pace, dragging her feet deliberately.

  The men on either side of her hoisted her in midair. They practically carried her by her elbows.

  “You’re hurting me,” she bit out, her gaze flicking to movement at her left.

  Aspen McKay.

  “Keep walking,” the biggest guy said, grating out his warning.

  A flash of light from a faulty lamppost showcased a large image she recognized. Wild, untamed hair fanned around his shoulders. The new look was tacky as hell on an older fellow, but one man pulled it off quite well.

  Joshua McKay.

  “Pick it up,” Sweden snapped. “This station has too many people. Listen to me. Hurry!”

  They approached the final rail car and another figure appeared.

  Patrick. All the McKays were present.

  She felt as if she were marching toward the gallows, accompanied by soldiers who were about to be ambushed. Glancing over her shoulder, she was aware of Cherie, the young woman who was in the most danger, seemingly despon
dent.

  The parking lot was straight ahead. Two SUV limousines pulled curbside. Their round yellow park lights glimmered in the darkness.

  “Keep walking,” one of her captors said.

  Footsteps followed them. Several rushed them.

  “Mr. Sweden? Stop where you are. We have you surrounded.” Several cops stepped out in front of the locomotive with their weapons drawn.

  “The cars are here,” Sweden said calmly, keeping his voice low. “Stay focused. Keep going. They won’t shoot. We have hostages.”

  The sound of boot heels thudded against the pavement.

  “Kimberly!” Sebastian shouted above the familiar hissing noise often heard in the train stations. With another locomotive pulling away from the tracks, it was more profound, deafening.

  “Turn around and we kill him,” one of the fellows said.

  Kimberly kept right on walking. She couldn’t put him at risk. She wouldn’t.

  About that time, Wyatt stepped out from behind the train. One arm was bent to support the other. A weapon was aimed directly at them.

  “I don’t miss, Sweden!” Wyatt called out. “And you damn well know it. You’ve been digging into my past enough to know when you’re beat and you’re beat here, motherfucker. Let her go. Let both of them go.”

  “Wyatt,” Kimberly breathed, realizing if they kept up their pace, she would walk right by him in a matter of seconds.

  “Stop,” Sweden ordered her captors then.

  Sweden’s idiots followed his orders, coming to an abrupt halt mere inches from where Wyatt stood with the other law enforcement agents.

  What had she missed here? Was Wyatt FBI? Was he CIA? Was he state police? Why was he holding his weapon like he knew how to handle himself around a gun?

  “It’s going to be all right,” Wyatt assured her, his gaze piercing through hers.

  Sweden grabbed her by the hair of the head and yanked her to him, sticking the syringe against her neck. “How far are you willing to go, Agent Clanton? Hmm? Are you willing to gamble with this woman’s life like you risked another woman’s? Are you willing to watch another person die before your very eyes?”